


The Secret of Life

by MadameParadise



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 05:37:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8610763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameParadise/pseuds/MadameParadise
Summary: Aspiring neurosurgeon Charlotte Byers always wondered what if there was more to life than what met the eye. After taking a leap of faith and leaving her small-town life to study under the genius Doctor Stephen Strange, Charlie discovers that her new-found relationship with the doctor may open doors to the secrets of reality...even those that should've stayed closed.





	1. Trains Really Get My Gears Going

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...no surprise, this is my first published story. Exciting, but anyways, I am looking for a beta to review each of my chapters before I publish them, so PM me if interested! I'm really excited about this piece and have a lot of ideas, so this is definitely going to be a long-term project!  
> Sorry about the short length, I just wanted to get my ideas out as fast as possible! This first chapter is most definitely a little slow, but I promise it's going to pick up soon!  
> I'm open to any thoughts and critiques you have, please let me know what you think. Like I said, I'm a rookie and I need all the help I can get lolololol (but seriously).  
> Anyways...enjoy! :)

Memories are a funny thing.  
They are so distant, yet sometimes it seems they're all we know.  
Now, I don't have an amazing memory. Only a few scenes stick out in my mind: being carried by my grandmother in what I think was a toy store, being stung by a bee on my tongue (intentionally), and my third-grade teacher telling me, "What has not been can never be lost".  
Interesting, right?  
But as my 10:30 AM Amtrak train from Detroit to New York pulled out from the station, I found a new memory to be tucked away: my father, smiling a soft smile, waving as my mother clung to him, sobbing hysterically for her "baby girl". A little embarrassed, I glanced away and gave a look towards the others passengers, as if to say "Sucks to have parents like that , am I right?".  
I was heading towards a once-in-a-life opportunity: a chance to start my residency at New York Hospital. For a 26-year-old med student (who's been stuck in the Midwest her entire life), it was better than going to heaven.  
In all honestly, I had absolutely no idea how I ended up with that residency. Yes, I did alright in med school; I always showed up to class, but in no way was I the best neurosurgeon in the University of Michigan. During my undergraduate and even through the four years of studying after, I never once thought that I would end up in the Big Apple, learning under some of the greatest surgeons in the world.  
But nonetheless, there I was, stuffed in the friendship seat of a beaten-down train, slowly chugging towards my future.  
Breathing out a sigh, I turned my attention away from the diminishing image of my parents and to shoveling my phone out of my backpack. 10:36. Great, fourteen more hours. I plugged my earbuds in, clicking my phone on to scroll through. After a minute or two of tedious debating, I finally settled on the White Album. Leaning my head on the frosted windowpane, I let my thoughts take over as the outside rushed by.  
You might be wondering why I would ever dream of leaving the Midwestern dream-world of suburbs, where everyone is safe and happy. A world like that, however, has never interested me. I wanted adventure, I wanted city-lights at night, I wanted the smell of smoke mixed with gasoline, I wanted crowded streets, concrete clouds, the feeling of never being alone. I wanted life.  
And I wanted Doctor Strange.  
The words look strange and conjure up some sort of romantic fantasy, but don't be mistaken; I barely knew the man. But what I did know was that he was an excellent surgeon.  
I first saw him when I was only a sophomore in college, balancing unsteadily on the fence between pursuing a degree in neurology, or in poetry. Polar opposites, I know. My organic chemistry class was hosting a guest speaker; my professor warned us we might fall asleep. When I arrived to class that day, I planned on doing just that day.  
The speaker showed up just before the heavy doors swung closed. However, instead of the depressed, balding, and sleep-inducing man I had imagined stood a genius. He gave off a sense of superiority, elegance, and even excitement. He was an excellent speaker and from what I gathered, even more of an excellent surgeon.  
I sat on the edge of my seat the entire lecture, despite some of classmates using that time to doodle in their books, or to drool on their desks. He made me love the practice of neurology so much that I spent the next seven years of my life dedicating every space in my mind to it. As I went from undergraduate to med school, and then to the scramble to find residencies, I knew that I had to work under someone like Doctor Strange. So, why settle for anything else?  
Mind you, I am not some sort of exceptional intellectual. Humbly put, I would say I was slightly above average. Slightly. I got into New York Hospital purely based on my charm and shining recommendations (from my calculus professor, who also happened to be my aunt). But I wanted to learn. I felt an urge to be more than I was, and I could only do that with the help of the man who had inspired me to follow the path I was on.  
"Next stop: Grand Central Station."


	2. The Concrete Jungle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...I'm back! Thank you to all who viewed my first chapter, it really encouraged me!  
> I'm still in the market for a Beta Reader, please let me know if you're interested.  
> As I said before, I really would love any thoughts, critiques, or suggestions you guys have.  
> As I promised, here is the second chapter! Enjoy. :)

Do you remember that one Alicia Keys song?  
"New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of…"  
Well, she wasn't lying. About the concrete jungle thing, I mean.  
As I stepped out from the gates of Grand Central Station, I was immediately engulfed in the shadow of skyscrapers, towering over me. People swarmed around me, pushing me back and forth like a ping-pong ball. I could barely hear myself think, which was surprising since I have a particularly loud subconsciousness.  
Before I could be trampled to death, I managed to throw myself and my bags towards the edge of the street. So many excited thoughts danced around my head. Where's Central Park? Isn't Strawberry Fields there? Ooh, I think that's the Rockefeller! Do they really have hot dog vendors here?  
I shook myself, giving a stern warning. No. I had to accomplish the basics before I let myself wander: 1.) Find out where I was 2.) Find out where the heck my new apartment was and 3.) Get to my apartment and sleep. And hopefully keep myself alive in the process.  
I pulled my phone out of my pocket, quickly entering my passcode, swiping through and getting onto Google Maps. Technology is great, isn't it? The glowing screen in my hand indicated I was in Midtown Manhattan. And from what I remembered, my apartment was in...Harlem.  
I exhaled. Great. Half an hour away.  
I heaved my duffle bag over my shoulder, standing on toes to peer into the street. The familiar yellow of cabs charged down the road. I waved, a little frantically, trying to best not to fall into the street. One of cabs slowly rolled to the side of the street, coming to a halt before me.  
Quickly, I threw the door open, shoving my bag in before me. The door slammed shut behind me, and we rumbled off into the mid-day traffic.  
"Where are you heading?"  
I blinked, realizing I was too busy congratulating myself on successfully not dying and getting a cab to tell my driver why I was even here. "Oh, uh...Bradhurst Avenue, please."  
"You're not from around here, aren't you?" The driver looked back at me, his dark eyes twinkling. "I can tell from your accent."  
I raised an eyebrow. "Accent?"  
"Midwestern. Very plain, very flat."  
"Oh." Not sure if I should feel offended, I instead peered out the window. We were surrounded by honking cars, everyone in a hurry, but all stuck in the same place.  
We sat in silence for only a few seconds before the driver began to speak again. "So, Harlem, huh? You'll have a great view of the old Avengers tower from there."  
The Avengers tower. I had nearly forgotten all about them. Funny, considering that was the sole reason my mother was so adamant on me not moving. She worried constantly, but particularly about my safety. New York City always seemed to be stuck in the middle of some sticky situations, especially in these last few years. They were kind of ironic; they were meant to keep us safe, yet all they did was put us in danger.  
Anyways.  
The cabbie looked back at me again. "You know about them?"  
"Who?" I asked. The driver laughed.  
"The Avengers."  
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I do." Most of my friends were obsessed with them. My friend, Julia, strongly believed that one day she would be Mrs. Captain America.  
"It's a shame the building is so beat-up." The driver frowned. He ran a calloused hand through his hair, but soon threw his hand on the passenger seat and looked back to me. I wondered briefly if he was Middle-Eastern, judging from his carmel-colored skin and ebony hair. "But let me ask you this, how does a girl like you find yourself in this place?"  
I gave a small smile. I didn't think I looked too out of place, until I looked down and realized I had on my heavy University of Michigan sweatshirt on. "Well, I want to be a surgeon-a neurosurgeon, specifically, and I decided to do my residency at New York Hospital." I paused, but added a quick afterthought. "And hopefully study under Dr. Strange."  
"Weird name. Never heard of him."  
The conversation lulled after that. I took the opportunity to look outside the smudged glass again, taking in my surroundings. Wow. It was weird to finally understand that this was my new home. This huge city, with so many people, so many stories, so many places to explore and secrets to uncover. I closed my eyes, imagining my own future. I could just see myself walking on that cracked pavement, head held high and a smile on my face. I was probably doing some unordinary thing, like walking a little dog, or talking on the phone, or maybe even pushing a stroller-that was a definite maybe. But the point is, I never wanted anything more for myself than just a normal city-life. Yes, I wanted to succeed in what I did but I just wanted to be normal. The idea itself might seem odd, considering most of the people who leave their homes to come to the city desire for something big, like fame, or money, or even just love.  
I just wanted to be happy.  
"Here we are…Bradhurst Avenue!"  
I gathered my bags into my arm, kicking the cab door open. "Thanks," I said as I threw a wad of bills into the backseat, "have a nice-"  
The cab skidded away before I could finish, leaving behind tire tracks. Rude.  
I looked behind me, taking in the sight. My apartment complex looked like a tall cinder-box with small, foggy windows. In fact, the whole street looked like that. There was no green, only gray and black.  
Home, sweet home.  
The rest of the day was a blur. My pint-sized apartment was filled to the brim with cardboard boxes (which I had decided to use for furniture). I spent the rest of my time attempting to organize my new life...and then giving up so I could eat take-out Chinese food. Around midnight, I finally fell asleep to the hum of the VCR, mixed with sirens, honking, and laughter echoing from the pub across the street. I instantly longed for the quiet nightlife of Michigan, but I eventually pulled it together to remind myself that this...this was me now.  
In the morning I dragged myself out of the mattress on the floor, managing to take an ice-cold shower, braid my dripping hair, throw on some scrubs, and grab a red Solo cup filled with soggy oatmeal and head out the door in under 15 minutes (is there an Olympics for that sort of thing?).  
The subway was a nightmare. Wedged between a hungover homeless man, and a mother with twins (both breast-feeding...at the same time), I realized that I really missed my old, trusty Volvo that I had cashed in so I could pay for my apartment. Anything is better that the New York subway system at 6:30 in the morning.  
And then, I was there.  
New York Hospital loomed over me. I should've felt excited, but as I stood, teetering in the entrance of the building, I suddenly felt like I could've thrown up. Right in the revolving doors.  
I took a deep breath. Hey, Charlotte. You asked for this, I silently reprimanded myself, Don't give up on me now. We left your mother for this. Your mother.  
After lurking in the doorway for almost four minutes, I somehow persuaded myself to hop in the rotating doors, and I was in.  
The hospital stench hit me like a freight train. It smelled like a mixture of Lysol and puke, which was, I'll admit. This was my place, my environment. What I came here for.  
"Charlotte Byers?"  
A red-haired woman with a toothy smile had advanced upon me, clutching a clipboard. "You must be our new resident! I'm Christine, Christine Palmer."  
I shook her extended hand, returning her smile. "Yeah, that's me." I paused, looking towards the clock. Crap. I was fifteen minutes late; so long to making a good first impression. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize I was-"  
"Late? Yeah." Christine grinned, though it looked more like a grimace. "Too late for apologies, am I right?" She barked a laugh, but soon stopped to grab my wrist and began dragging me through the crowded lobby. "Anyways, we're behind, so let's just get you started."  
We burst through a metallic set of doors, and into a long, LED-lit hallway. Doctors and nurses rushed by us, some chatting casually, and others pulling stretchers with various patients. Some looked just fine, others were obviously getting ready for surgery, and some were just...well, you don't come for hospitals for no reason. Let's just put it that way.  
"I'm not the one in charge of telling you what and what not to do," Christine started. I jogged behind her, trying to keep up as turned sharply around a corner. God, I need to start working out. "But what I do know is you'll be with Strange for the first part of your residency. Like I said, no idea what you're doing but-" She halted in front of another set of double doors. I heard soft voices behind them, accompanied by... music? "You'll be just fine."  
With a quick nudge, I was shoved through the doors. A flash of bright lights hit, nearly blinding me. Blinking hard, my eyesight slowly adjusted. I instantly recognized the shiny metal tools, glowing lamps, and beeping monitors; I was in an operation room. There were plenty of nurses and doctors in the large room, all hovering over the cadaver-or person, I suppose. And as for the music?  
"I don't want to lose your love...tonight…!"  
"Easy. 'Your Love' by the Outfield, 1985."  
"Actually, I think it's '87…"  
"Check it, then."  
A pudgy man supervising the main computers huffed, quickly tapping his fingers on the keyboard. Seconds passed. "And it's…" His voice fell. "'85.'"  
One of the doctors in the middle laughed, a scalpel hovering in his hand. His mouth was hidden behind a surgical mask, but by his twinkling blue eyes, I could tell he was smirking. "That's what I said. Give me something harder next time."  
I didn't need to see his face to know who it was. That proud voice, his dusty gray hair, the mere precision with how he continued to carve into his patient, it was-  
"Dr. Strange." I spat out. The room fell silent, and I could feel every eye on me. Usually, I would've been embarrassed by that, but the anticipation in me had burst like a bubble. "I'm Charlotte Byers," I continued, making a beeline to the doctor, "and I'm your new resident. Someone, or I guess Christine Palmer, told me to report to you. I'm just really…" I exhaled, realizing I had been holding my breath. "Really...honored."  
Strange observed me silently, one of his bushy eyebrows raising. After a moment of silence he nodded understanding, passing his scalpel off to an assistant. He pulled his surgical mask down, letting me get a good look at him. Dr. Strange looked just the same as he did seven years ago; tall with a long, sharp face, hooded eyes, thin lips, and a high forehead. The only thing that seemed to have changed was the addition of a few gray hairs on the side of his head. "Charlotte, yes." His voice was low and warm. "I was told you'd show up one of these days. Remind me, what's your experience?"  
I blinked. "Oh, experience. Uh, yeah…" I grabbed for the satchel bag that hung off my hip, digging around in the contents. "I think I have my resume around here somewhere… Um, well, I did my undergraduate at Indiana University, then moved to the University of Michigan for medical school… I'm aiming for neuroscience, but I've interned at lots of surgical clinics and have just as much experience with general surgery." Giving up with my search for the resume, I let my arms flop to my side and looked back to Strange, beaming. "You know, you're the reason I decided to go through with med school."  
The room erupted into quiet aww's, but Doctor Strange stayed silent. He looked me over, as if assessing every one of my details, from head to toe. Finally, he spoke. "So I take it you're almost overqualified for this position then."  
"Well, I wouldn't-"  
"We need someone like you." Strange interrupted. I could practically feel my smile widening like the opening of curtains. I had dreamed of something like this for years, and here I was. Receiving praise from the one person I wanted to like me, to appreciate all the hard work I had put into this career. The stress, the late nights, the piles of books, all of it, was finally worth it.  
"Let's see…" The doctor gazed at me thoughtfully, almost like he was looking through me. "What can you do?"  
"I-I can do anything, I could be your assistant, I could track the patient's vital signs, I could-" He held his hand up, silencing me.  
"You can mop the floors."


	3. Greg's Birthday Extravaganza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still on the hunt for a Beta reader...so, you know what to do if you're interested.  
> Remember to leave any critiques, thoughts, or questions you have!  
> Enjoy as usual. :)

"Wow, you've become quite the janitor."

"I guess practice makes perfect."

The mop sank back into the bucket with a soft plop, spraying driblets of murky water. Growling under my breath, I wiped my face. "You know, I studied eight years for this. Eight."

The man next to me clicked his tongue apologetically, shaking his head. "They never tell you how hard it is in the medical field."

"Yeah, well, they never prepared me for this." I gestured to the bucket of brown water. "Did you have to clean up when you first started?"

He shook his head again, looking at me with apologetic eyes. "Nope, sorry."

"Henry, you've got to be kidding me."

"Sorry, Charlie." Henry lifted his shoulders with an aura of regret. "I guess we all have to start somewhere. But cheer up, someone brought in cake for their birthday. Come to the break room with me," He paused, his eyes wandering towards my mop bucket, "unless you're too busy."

I snorted, pushing the bucket away with a swift kick. "Funny. Let's go."

Henry and I made our way to the break room. He was a very relaxed guy, only a few years older than I was. Just being in his presence made someone feel at ease; if was a drink, he would be chamomile tea. We met only seconds after Dr. Strange had more or less shattered my dreams into a thousand tiny pieces. He comforted me with snide comments towards the doctor, and it didn't hurt that he had offered to buy me a bag of chips. We clicked instantly, and only after two weeks, we were like two peas in a pod. We balanced each other perfectly; he was the ISFJ to my ESFJ.

"So you immediately started to work as a nurse when you got here?" I asked, matching my strides to his.

He pursed his lips, scratching the dark stubble on his chin. I constantly teased him about his scraggly, almost patchy beard. He thought he looked like Brad Pitt, but he was more of a young DiCaprio who was trying to grow up too fast. "I guess so. It was kind of messy, considering on the first day I dropped a scalpel into some guy's lasagna."

"Henry!"

He winced playfully as I hit his shoulder. "What? It looked like there was some sort of tumor in there. I was just trying to be a good nurse, obviously."

Laughing, we made our way into the break room. Some of the doctors and nurses had attempted to brighten up the drab, windowless room by scattering a few balloons, tossing some streamers over the fridge, and hanging up a plastic sign that said "HAPPY BIRTHDAY GREG!"

A pudgy man with a tasseled birthday hat, who I assumed was the famous Greg, waddled over to us, arms extended. "Henry!" Greg flung his arms around him, pulling him into a bone-breaking bear hug. "Have some cake kid, have some cake!"

Henry managed a smile, despite his face slowly turning purple. "Ah-okay, thanks, man…" Wriggling out of Greg's fatal embrace, he waved a hand towards me. "Greg, you know Charlie."

Greg's eyes lit up behind his thick spectacles. "Of course, of course! Our newest resident… Has anyone ever told you that you look like Pattie Boyd?"

I shook his sweaty hand, wincing from his death grip. "Oh, yeah. I get it a lot." It was true, I never went a week without someone pointing the similarities (I'll admit, it was kind of flattering).

I brushed my bangs out of my eyes, looking about the room. Small groups of my co-workers had formed, milling about, trying to ingest as much cake as possible before their next shift began. "So, how old are you turning, Greg?"

Greg beamed, revealing two sets of pearly whites with twin golden caps on each canine. "52, yes, 52."

Henry leaned over, muttering in my ear, "Did I mention he has OCD?"

"I heard it was someone's birthday."

Well, shit.

I physically winced; I didn't need to turn around to know who the low, even voice belonged to. The voice that had been ordering me around for past two weeks, completely disregarding my eight years of training, and-oh, did I mention, the voice that more or less obliterated my future?

Stephen Strange swaggered into the room, grinning. He slapped Greg on the back with a thump. "Greg, look at you. 52, and you don't look a day over 36."

"Thank you, thank you." Greg looked flushed, and I could instantly tell he was blushing. Strange did seem to have that effect on people, making them completely starstruck.

"Looks like you're pretty popular today," Strange continued, gazing around the room, then to Henry, and finally, his eyes fell on me. His cheek muscle twitched slightly, and I felt the awkward tension between us growing. "Nice to see you, uh…" He squinted, and I could sense of hint of over-exaggeration. "Charlie, is it?"

Please, like he didn't know my name. Little shit. Of course, I wouldn't dare say that to his face. I was a very non-confrontational person, and I cared too much about what others thought. If I had to choose between winning a debate and making sure people's feelings didn't get hurt, I would've chosen the latter.

"Charlotte, actually."

"Charlotte." Strange repeated, folding his arms. He tore his attention away from my stoic stature and back towards Greg, who was looking on us with an air of confusion. "Anyways, I've been reading up on those PPIs everyone has been talking about. What do you think?"

PPIs...PPIs… A lightbulb went off in my head. I briefly remembered catching a glimpse of some article that was in a newspaper someone had left by the coffee machine that morning. It talked about PPIs; four of the prescriptions given to patients for stomach pain and indigestion. I saw a light in the dark tunnel I was in, a chance to prove myself.

"I think they're great," I jutted in, sticking my chin up a little higher. I was never one to brag, but this was an exception. "I mean, they're FDA approved, safe, and they even have the longest history of effective consumer use."

The two men, including Henry, blinked slowly at me, as if I had just told them that the sun revolves around the earth.

Henry suddenly laughed, which turned into a fit of coughing. Greg took a sharp breath in. And Strange? Well…

"Actually no. When taking a PPI, the overall risk of stroke increases 21%, and a 2010 study found that PPIs were associated with an increased risk of a serious bacterial infection." He shot facts at me like bullets, walking closer and closer to me. Henry told me he loved to argue, but I never thought would find myself on his opposition. "When someone takes a PPI, the amount of their stomach acid is reduced, so therefore it creates the perfect environment for bacteria. Patients who take PPIs also have a 96% increased risk of kidney failure, so, no. PPIs are not 'great'."

"I think Charlie was mistaken," Henry quickly interjected, stepping in between Strange and I as a barrier. He grinned his toothy grin, sure to break any strain. Looking at Henry was like looking at a kitten; it made you melt. "I mean, that study was just published."

Strange raised an eyebrow, cold eyes still set on mine. "A good doctor always keeps his information up to date. It's a good thing you're not one, Charlotte." With that, he swept out of the room.

My heart dropped into my stomach. I fought back hot tears prickling at my eyes, daring to spill over. I clenched my fists, the ring on my thumb making a white indent on my palm. Spinning on my heel, I begin to march out of the room.

"Charlie, wait-" Henry rushed to keep up with me, shooting a apologetic look to Greg. "Sorry, man. Happy Birthday."

The door slammed behind us. My sneakers flopped against the linoleum, Henry's echoing behind me.

"Charlie, just stop."

I came to a dead stop in front of the staff bathrooms, pulling myself into the doorway.

Henry caught up, sliding in beside me. His blonde hair looked white under the lights. "Listen, Charlie." He began to scratch his neck. Obviously, he wasn't great with consoling others. "I know Strange is a bit of an asshole at times, but-"

I snapped. "But what? He's downright rude. He completely shoved all my experience off to the side. He was my role model; the reason I decided to go into this shit. I've worked so hard these past few years, only to be…" My voice quivered and I bit my lip. "Here."

"But here is where you wanted to be."

"I wanted to be here as an actual resident, not someone's maid, picking up all the messes. He doesn't respect me at all. He hasn't even given me a chance."

Henry inhaled through his nose. "Then do something about it."

I looked back at him, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Do something about it, Charlie." He continued, throwing his hands up in emphasis. "You've let him walk all over you. Go show him what you can do. You're the most hard-working, ernest girl I've ever met. Strange should be lucky to work-"

We stopped as the men's bathroom door opened, and out walked the devil himself. Stephen raised an eyebrow at Henry, avoiding eye contact with me, as he wiped his hands on his scrubs.

"I should be lucky to what?"

My friend faltered, his eyes growing wide. "I-I, well, uh…" He searched for words as he slowly backed away from the two of us, eyes darting for an escape route. "I think I'm late for...my...root canal." He disappeared down the corridor.

And then it was two.

Strange and I stared at each other with such an intensity you would've thought I murdered his mother.

I remembered Henry's words, and suddenly found the truth in them. He was right. I was a hard-working young woman, and I spent the last portion of my life training to be where I was right now. I was tired of being tossed around, being taken advantage of. I wasn't the smartest, but I damn well was the best.

"Give me a chance." I suddenly blurted out.

Strange raised an untidy eyebrow. "What?"

"Just...give a chance, Doctor. I didn't leave all my family, my friends, and my entire life just so I could mop up vomit in the lobby." I took a breath, realizing I had been holding it this entire time. "Please."

He paused, obviously contemplating my words. Finally, he spoke. "Listen, Charlotte, I'm sorry. I know I haven't been...the nicest to you. And I don't mean to rain on your parade but…" Strange shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging. "I just don't think there's room for you here. Believe me, I've read your transcripts. It's not that you're not smart, or capable, but we need to best of the best."

"Then…" I opened my mouth, then closed it sharply. I knew what I needed to say, but every ounce of me told me not to say it. No, don't you dare. Don't lower yourself, don't you even think- "Then teach me."

Oops.

Strange's eyes widened, obviously taken back. "Charlotte, I don't think you-"

"Dr. Strange, please." I practically begged, clasping my hands like a child. "You're the reason I'm here. I could be doing anything, but you inspired me to do this. I know I'm not a genius, but I've worked my ass off to get where I am. Just give me a chance."

The dusty-haired man before me slowly began to recompose, assessing every single detail in my words. "Fine. I'll give you a chance. You can be my assistant."

I audibly sighed in relief. Sure, I hated Dr. Strange with every bone of my being, but I still respected him. Even I knew what an honor it was to work under him. "Thank you, so-"

He held one gloved hand up. "But when I say you're going to be my assistant, you better understand the responsibility that comes with that position. You'll be by my side every hour of every day. When I tell you to do something, you do it. You record anything I tell you to, get anything I tell you to get. And on top of that…" His gray-blue eyes twinkled with a sort of mischievous spark.

"I'll teach you."


End file.
